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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Cop3Tiglit No. 

Shelf_.L_(3r-7 H S 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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GriS 






Copyright, 1896 

BY 

ARTHUR GRISSOM 



t 



Ube Tknicfccrbocfeer iptegg, Iftevp Jgorfe 



TO MY SWEETHEART 
FRIEND. AND WIFE 



PREFACE.* 

A certain Bard (as Bards will do) 
Dressed up his Poems for Review. 

Atistin Dob son. 

Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes, 
And 't is but just to let them live betimes. 

Pope. 



*For the privilege of republishing these 
verses, special acknowledgment is due to the 
editors oi Leslie's Weekly, Life, Truth, Vogue, 
Town Topics, Godefs Magazine, Munsey's, 
Overland Monthly, Dramatic Mirror, New 
York Herald, and The Chap-Book. 

V 



CONTENTS. 






PAGE 


At Cupid's Court. 




The Waif 


3 


Princess Charmynge 


6 


Evening in Broadway 


8 


The Debutante . . . . 


10 


To an Old Portrait . . . . 


12 


A Gentleman of the Old School 


15 


Vie de Societe 


i6 


Wedded 


i8 


My Lady's Boudoir . 


20 


Ideals 


22 


Above H^ Fancie Worke 


24 


Grandma's Wedding Gown 


25 


A Glimpse .... 


27 


Blase 


28 


Vivette 


30 


The Passing of the Modern Momus 


32 


To an Old Guitar . 


34 


Romance at Ten 


36 


A Fashionable Graduate . 


. 38 


A Coquette's Ruse . 


. 40 


The Lucky Gown . 


. 41 


Before the Ball 


. 43 



Contents 









PAGE 


Retribution 44 


A Love Song . 




46 


The Old-Fashioned Girl . 




47 


My Lady of the Marigold 




49 


To Julia .... 




51 


On Julia's Red Fan 




52 


Ballade of Spring Departure 




53 


Ballade of Forgotten Loves 




55 


A Fan Fancy . 




57 


At the Bal Masque . 






58 


Dalliance 






59 


Souvenir de Jeunesse 






60 


A Cynic's Conclusion 






61 


With Her Red Lips So Like the Rose 62 


Songs in Season. 


A Spring Song .... 65 


Primavera 






67 


Under the Red Lily 






68 


The Happy River . 






69 


Love-Notes 






71 


Under a Sunshade . 






74 


Coaching 






76 


Aboard the Bumble Bee 






77 


Pressing Autumn Leaves 






79 


The Archery Match 






81 


Bohemia and Bohea 






82 


A Lovers' Quarrel . 






84 


The Sleigh-Ride 






86 


Skating Song . 






88 



Contents 



For Valentine 
Heirlooms 



Ivory Miniatures. 
An Ivory Miniature 
White . 
Potpourri 
The Bride 
Spring in Tuscany 
The Artist 
Identified 
In Seville 
The Ballet Dancer 

Fancy A-wing. 

In Italia .... 

Aholabeh 

In the Highlands 

The Homesick Wanderer 

Hafiz .... 

Chrysanthemum 

Felicia of Mexico . 

Varia. 

Lay of the Modern Minstrel 

To Emma Fames 

No. 10, Arcady 

A Predicament 

Nocturne 

"I Love You" 

The Scribe's Sweetheart 



PAGE 
90 

9^ 

95 
96 

97 

98 

99 
100 
102 
103 
104 

107 
no 
112 

115 
117 
119 
121 



125 
127 
129 
131 
133 
134 
136 



Contents 






PAGE 


Fairy Tales .... 


. 137 


Futile Intuition 


139 


A Message .... 


. 140 


A Woman's Love . 


142 


" Your Sin will Find You Out" 


143 


Reconciliation 


144 


Too Natural .... 


145 


The Poet's Farewell 


146 


A Fling at Poets 


147 


Plaint of a Poet 


148 



AT CUPID'S COURT. 



THE WAIF. 

\X/HITE ladies, proud and great, 

Sweet ladies and most dear. 
Bend from your high estate, 

And hear me, ladies, hear ; 
A moment stay the dance, 

I, Cupid, at the door, 
Beseech you for a glance. 

One tender word implore ! 

A homeless stranger I, 

An outcast of the storm. 
So cold in passing by 

I needs must stop and warm ; 
Please drive me not away. 

And do not frown, or scold. 
Have pity, ladies, pray, 

I am so cold — so cold ! 

Once, in a happier time, 
I was a welcome guest 
3 



:iBeau£ and Seller 



In every home and clime 

With youth and beauty blest ; 

And ladies great as you, 
In jeweled silks and lace, 

Esteemed me fair and true, 
And blushed to kiss my face. 



Ah, those were happy days ! 

But all their joys were vain ; 
Maids wearied of my ways, 

And gave me cold disdain, 
Because, forsooth, there came 

My rival, base and bold, 
Who stole their souls. His name ? 

His name — ah, me ! — was Gold. 



Since then, from sun to sun, 

I *ve wandered far and near, 
A vagrant maidens shun. 

And flout, and spurn, and fear ; 
Yet would I do no harm. 

Kind ladies, this I swear. 
More than to teach the charm 

Of living to the fair ! 
4 



Bt CupiD'6 Court 



Behold, my broken bow, 

My quiver's need of darts ; 
I know not where to go 

To find unselfish hearts ; 
Please, ladies, bid me stay, 

The snow is cold and high, 
Have pity, ladies, pray. 

Have pity, or I die ! 



PRINCESSE CHARMYNGE. 

C HE is Belle of all ye Towne ! 
"Whenne she Comes & Goes, 
How h' rivalles frette ande frowne ! 
What a general bowynge downe 
Of y« Beaux ! 

She is fayre, & franke, & swete, 

Scarce beyond h'' teenes ; 
But adourers at h'^ feete 
Fynde h"^ sovereigntie compleat 
As a queen's. 

Whenne she smyles or spekes, y^ aire 

Semes to thryll with Songe ; 
Yf for one she semes to care 
AUe besyde are inne dispaire 
At y^ wronge ! 

Who colde saye w^- She will wed ? 
Will he ryches owne ? 
6 



m CupiD's Court 



Will he, whenne y^ vows are sayde, 
Askynge for a hearte, instedde 
Get a stone ? 

Ah, my Secrett will not downe ! 

Yett — how can it be ? 
She, y« beautie of renoune, 
She, ye Belle of alle y^ Towne, 
Loves but Me ! 



EVENING IN BROADWAY. 

'T'HERE is hurrying up and down, 
There is laughter in Broadway, 
For the beauties of the town 

Now are trooping to the play ; 
They are come from Murray Hill, 

From the houses tall and fine 
By the Park and where you will, 

From their dinners and their wine. 

You can mark them as they go 

By their stately swing and dash, 
You can hear their laughter low. 

You can see their jewels flash ; 
They are robed in silks and furs. 

They have not an earthly care — 
Debutantes and dowagers, 

All are happy, all are fair. 

And the men who walk beside, 

With their sable cloaks thrown back, 
8 



Bt CupiD'5 Court 



Showing bosoms white and wide 
In relief against the black, 

With their boots of fleckless gloss, 
Lofty hats and silvered sticks, 

Think no more of gain and loss, 
Games of greed or politics. 

There is joy in every breast, 

Hope is sweet when eyes are fond, 
Life is now a careless jest, 

And no sorrow lies beyond. 
Are there souls in misery ? 

Who remembers in his mirth ? 
In the glow of lights they see 

Naught of all the gloom of earth. 

Note the shifting up and down 

Of the pageant in Broadway, 
All the beauties of the town 

Trooping gayly to the play ! 
Will a mimic scene compare 

With their own, do you suppose ? 
Now they vanish, and the air 

Smells of violet and rose. 



THE DEBUTANTE. 

DETWIXT the blooming and the bud, 

As 'twixt the dawnlight and the day, 
She, radiant with youthful blood, 
Stands on the verge of womanhood, 
Seeming to say : 

•' Behold me ! I am chaste as light ! 

Behold me ! I am very fair — 
Yea, I am fair in all men's sight, 
A flower no shame or sin may blight, 
Mocking despair." 

I know this, having lived thus long : 

To human eyes the fairest thing 
In all this world of woe and wrong. 
Is maidenhood — incarnate song. 
Symbol of spring. 

I know this, learned of all-wise Time : 
God's masterwork it is ; I know 

lO 



i 



at CupiD'0 Court 



'T is sweeter, fairer, more sublime, 
Than aught else told in rune or rhyme 
Written below. 

Believing this, as all men must, 

I marvel at the ill man hath 
To be a traitor to her trust, 
To poison her sweet lips with lust, 
Knowing God's wrath. 



II 



TO AN OLD PORTRAIT. 

(by a modern cynic.) 

^ OOD lady, you were once, I 'm told, 

A famous belle, of many graces, 
Who won the hearts of young and old, 

And loyal praise in royal places ; 
Who danced, coquetted, played, and sung, 

Until your maidenhood departed, 
Were wed, but passed away while young. 

And left a hundred broken-hearted ! 

A nice and proper record — yet 

You 'd nowadays be voted stupid ; 
Now really, did you ^uiie forget 

To give at least one shock to Cupid ? 
Dear me ! how could you please the men. 

And make a lasting reputation. 
Without o'erstepping, now and then. 

The narrow limits of your station ? 

12 



Bt Cupid's Court 



That 's why you died so soon, of course, 

'T is often so with those so moral ; 
If you had only tried divorce, 

And told the public all the quarrel ! 
If you had gone upon the stage. 

And sung falsetto in the chorus, 
Heigho, but you 'd have been the rage — 

And still would live to plague and bore us ! 

'T is said that you were true and frank, 

And ne'er indulged in tales misleading, 
And never smoked, and never drank. 

Nor suffered ills from over-feeding ; 
That when you went about at night, 

To ball or play, where tongues are spiteful, 
You kept your chaperon in sight, 

Yet seemed to think your life delightful ! 

'T is also said you sometimes took 

A friendly interest in your neighbors, 
And that — oh, horrors ! — you could cook, 

And knew somewhat of household labors ; 
That once you sewed a button on 

Your husband's shirt — a servant's duty — 
And once you waked and rose at dawn — 

Yet managed to preserve your beauty ! 
13 



J5eau£ anO JBellcs 



Good lady, here I lift my hat 

In meek obeisance to your virtue ; 
Believe me when I venture that 

Your modesty in nowise hurt you ; 
You make it plain to me, at last — 

The thought is strange — almost alarming- 
A woman not bizarre or fast 

May yet be admirable and charming ! 



I 



14 



A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD 
SCHOOL. 

WOU would not think to see him there 

That he had passed threescore and ten 
So straight he stands, so bright his eye- 
So much more grand than other men ! 

His courtly mien, his knightly grace. 

The gallantry he ne'er forgets, 
Are so distinguishing you think 

That he was born with epaulets ! 

He brings to mind the storied days 

Of chivalry in feudal lands, 
When cavaliers in lace and gold 

Bent low to kiss their ladies' hands. 

One fancies that when Death shall come 
And pluck his sleeve, with sombre nod, 

With hand upon his heart he '11 make 
A grave obeisance to his God ! 



15 



VIE DE SOCIETE. 

C HE boasts a crest and coat-of-arms ; 

Her grandsire fought at Bunker Hill ; 
By virtue of her wealth and charms 

She rules her gilded world at will ; 
Her life is one of fine display, 

Indulgence and extravagance ; 
She only lives from day to day 

To dress, and drive, and dine, and dance. 

And while she shines at play or ball, 

Or at her own exclusive teas, 
Or chats throughout a morning call 

Of courts, chiffons, and coquetries, 
Her husband, as he goes and comes, 

Sends now and then his best regards. 
And finds diversion in his chums, 

His clubs, his cognac, and his cards. 

So, like the lilies of the field. 
They toil not, neither do they spin ; 
i6 



i 



Bt CupfD'6 Court 



** A bore ! " they say, and yawn, and yield 
To each ' ' smart " folly, fad, and sin. 

And what has life for such as these ? 
Not I have envy or regret ; 

I have my pipe, my ale and cheese, 
My brush, my garret, and Favette ! 



17 



WEDDED. 

T WAS married last night, my dear fellow— 

You remember sweet Isabel Wright ? 
Of course — 't was at old Monticello 

You brought us together that night. 
The waltz was " The Love of a Siren " ; 

So trustful and warm was her hand, 
I laughed as I quoted from Byron 

Of " vows that are traced in the sand." 

You know how my love was a passion 

From the moment we met at the ball ; 
Both favorites of fortune and fashion, 

We reigned in that glittering hall ! 
I fancy we caused a commotion, 

As we swept past the guests of degree, 
While she sweetly concurred in my notion 

That the sirens were all in the sea. 

She gave me her promise that season, 
'Neath the moon, on the sands of the shore 
i8 



Bt CupiD's Court 



I loved all the more for the reason 
I had ne'er loved a woman before. 

Naught is sweeter than love but requital — 
Gossip called us a well-mated pair — 

I was lacking in naught but a title, 
And she was angelically fair. 

Yes, married — 't was in sound of the ocean ; 

She was regal, my boy, she was grand ; 
I shall never forget my emotion 

As I watched her and thought of the sand. 
She posed with the grace of a fairy. 

Like a statue in marble I stood ; — 
She was wed to the Marquis Old Harry, 

And I, to my bachelorhood ! 



19 



MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. 

*• Calebs quid agam ? " — HORAT. 

A SWEET and subtle, rare perfume, 

That seems to charm the wayward 

sense 
Like some weird witch's strange in- 
cense, 
Pervades the silence of the room. 

One swift, shy look doth these reveal : 
Much rare old lace from inner France ; 
Some gay mementos of the dance ; 

A curious old-time spinning-wheel ; 

An ivory curio from Japan ; 

A winged god from buried Rome ; 

A sealskin from a Northland home ; 
A worn prayer-rug from Ispahan ; 

20 



at (IupiD'6 Court 



The harp of some quaint Tyrolese ; 

A mandolin from sunny Spain ; 

A seagull, stuffed, that winged the main- 
A host of queer things such as these. 

Soft cushions, pictures, curtains rare ; 

A couch for which a queen might sigh ; 

All things that please the artist's eye. 
And luxury is everywhere. 

It seems a glimpse of things above, 
A bit of heaven dropped to earth ; 
A place that might give hallowed birth 

To wondrous witcheries of love. 

I trespass on forbidden ground, — 

I must discovery beware ; 

When sounds her step upon the stair 
I '11 haste away, and not be found. 

I steal one look — a shameful sin I 

I feel the danger of delay, 

But when I start to go away, 
I hear my lady's voice : "Come in ! " 



21 



IDEALS. 

•THEY did not meet in glittering hall, 

At birth and beauty's court, 

Nor yet at banquet, play, or ball, 

The scenes of Fashion's sport ; 

Nor anywhere among the throng 

Of gilded Folly's slaves, 
Whose queens make wealth the cloak of 
wrong. 
Whose kings are secret knaves. 



They did not meet among the flowers 

All in a garden fair, 
Where birds and bees beguile the hours, 

And love is in the air ; 
Where Nature dons her richest robe. 

To charm all eyes that see, 
And groups the graces of the globe 

In bowers of Arcady. 



Bt CupiO'6 Court 



They did not meet in foreign climes, 

'Neath cold or sunny skies, 
'Mid Scottish hills or Spanish limes, 

Or where sweet Como lies ; 
They did not meet in summer, spring, 

In winter, or in fall ; 
Ideals are aye evanishing — 

They did not meet at all ! 



23 



ABOVE HR FANCIE WORKE. 

/^OQUETTE ! Above h' fancie worke 
H' fancie strayes from lace to lovers, 
& who shalle saye what deepe plans lurke 

Withinne h' hearte, as Cupid hovers 
Aneare to aide, with readye bowe, 
Inne layinge some new lover lowe ? 



24 



GRANDMA'S WEDDING GOWN. 

f O ! here is grandma, just stepped down 

From the picture on the wall, 
Dressed in her famous wedding gown, 

To attend the fancy ball ! 
No wrinkle mars her dear, sweet face. 

She looks, with cheeks aglow, 
Just as she looked, in pearls and lace, 

Seventy years ago ! 

No wonder she was worshipped then 

In all the country-side ! 
No wonder hearts were broken when 

She wore this gown, a bride ! 
And, oh ! to-night she 's just as fair 

As when she wore it so. 
With girdled waist and powdered hair, 

Seventy years ago ! 

The satin, once of spotless white, 
Is yellowed with the years ; 
25 



J8eau£ anO JBelles 



The veil that fell in folds of light 
Is stained, but not with tears ; 

For grandma's life was one long May, 
As free from ill and woe 

As was her perfect wedding-day, 
Seventy years ago ! 

To-night, in all her youth and grace, 

For all to praise that see, 
The old love-light upon her face, 

She comes to dance with me. 
Ah, rose so like the parent flower ! 

Full soon our love shall know 
The joy that crowned her bridal hour, 

Seventy years ago ! 



26 



A GLIMPSE. 

TJE spoke of Love as a snow-white dove ; 
And this morn, as I raised mine eyes, 
A dove, snow-white, flew by in sight, 
And was lost for aye in the skies ! 



27 



BLASE. 

LJE finds no joyance in a rose 

That graced an hour a fair one's tresses, 
He laughs at love, as one who knows 

That maids were only made for dresses ; 
He tells you looks are ladies' lies, 

That pledges bore unless they 're broken, 
And as for tears and tender sighs, 

They only painful stays betoken. 

He lives, he says, an age too late. 

For this one's hero is the fanner, 
And seeks relief in slurring fate 

Because not born a knight in armor. 
Life nowadays is all a blank, 

Containing not one new sensation ; 
And what 's a million in the bank ? 

Why, nothing but an aggravation ! 

Dear ! dear ! I cannot quite agree 
With all he says, because — well, Polly 
28 



I 



Bt CupiD's Court 



Is not so great and fine, may be, 

But she makes life seem mighty jolly ! 

I dare say I 'm a simple wight 

To think her pretty, true, forgiving, 

But I retain my appetite. 

And find a real delight in living ! 



29 



VIVETTE. 

T 'M sure I cannot understand 

Just why I love my love Vivette, 
She 's not the least bit great or grand, 

Like many ladies I have met ; 
She 's not o'erwise, and never thinks 
How great /am — the little minx ! 
And laughs if I dare broach a threat — 
She has so many faults — and yet — 
And yet — 

She 's most provoking now and then, 

And says I shall not call her " pet " ; 
Somehow I do it soon again — 

It is j-^ easy to forget ! 
And all the while I wonder why, 
When she is but Vivette, and I 
Am — well, am /, and I regret 
That I have told my love — and yet — 
And yet — 

30 



Bt CupiD^s Court 



It is the strangest thing I know 

That I should love this sly Vivette ; 

Why, she refused me long ago — 
And she a most pronounced brunette ! 

Is 't not absurd ? — and when I 've said 

None but the fairest blonde I 'd wed ? 

And I 'm entangled in her net 

More every day ! 'T is wrong — and yet — 

And yet — 

What shall I do ? I think I '11 say : 

"Good-bye, Vivette — good-bye, Vivette, 

Hereafter I '11 remain away, 

And all your little ways forget ! " 

She will not care — she '11 only laugh, 

" Pray don't be sad on my behalf," 

She '11 say — and then a kiss I *11 get. 

I think she 's very bold — and yet — 

And yet — 



31 



THE PASSING OF THE MODERN 
MOMUS. 

" Momus was the god of raillery and repartee ; at 
the feasts of the gods he played the buffoon. His 
office was to reprove the faults of the gods, which he 
did in so sarcastic a manner as to put himself out of 
i&vOT."-~I>wz£-At''s Mythology. 



M 



IRTH and music now have ceased, 
And we '11 drink a standing toast 
To the Momus of our feast 

Who amused and vexed us most. 

Lo, our Folly's king is dead, 
And the comedy 's at end ; 

Ring the curtain ; bow the head ; 
Friend or foeman now is friend. 

Fate provided fittingly 
The finale, as it chanced ; 

Dancing as he bade us we, 
He was dying while we danced. 
32 



Bt CupiD^s Court 



Harlequin and sage in one, 

Clown and king, but never knave 

Yet what noble deed was done ? 
Who will weep above his grave ? 

Will the merry host he led 
Honor him as great of men ? 

Drain the glass once to the dead ! 
Ho ! the dance begins again ! 



33 



TO AN OLD GUITAR. 

T TAKE you up with reverence, 

Although you 're rather scarred and 
seamy, 
And never more will charm the sense 
With strains inspiriting or dreamy ; 
Methinks if you were tuned anew, — 
You can't be, so 't is but a fancy — 
The only music made by you 

Would be a tender plaint for Nancy ! 

L,ong, long you 've lain in gloom and dust, 

But many a memory round you lingers ; 
You once were loved, and how you must 

Have thrilled at touch of Nancy's fingers ! 
She played you as she played with hearts, 

For ah, my lady was capricious, 
But though love's wounds have grievous 
smarts, 

I vow her playing was delicious ! 
34 



m CuplD'a Court 



I envied you a bit, mayhap, 

Your power to please, and sweet successes, 
When you reclined upon her lap, 

Responding to her soft caresses ; 
/kept my distance, bashful lout ! 

And eyed my buckled shoon dejected. 
Until my cousin cut me out — 

A thing I 'd really not expected ! 

And then, when afterward I learned 

From Nancy's sister's chiding letter, 
(The which, I own, I kissed, — and burned), 

That she had really loved me better, 
I had some trouble in my side 

That puzzled Doctor Sheley greatly ; 
It grew so bad when Nancy died, 

I 've never got quite well — till — lately. 

Heigho ! my eyes are getting weak ; 

Confound me, I 'm a soft old noddy ! 
I did n't know the past could speak 

So touchingly of anybody. 
Ah, me ! To think her old guitar 

Should turn up here ! — a priceless token. 
Although defaced by seam and scar. 

And broken, as my heart was broken ! 
35 



ROMANCE AT TEN. 



VOU were the Lady of Kiss- Again, 
And I was the Prince de Grand ; 
You of the odious Ogre's den, 

And I of the Beautiful Land ; 
You were the maiden divinely fair 

Locked in the castle tower, 
"While I was the knight who rode by there, 

And caught from your hand a flower. 



Do you remember the rescue brave ? — 

My climbing the latticed wall, 
With oath that I should the maiden save. 

Or else in my own blood fall ? 
And how you were borne, on the old gray 
mare — 

You riding behind, astride — 
Away to the regions afar and fair, 

As Lochinvar bore his bride ? 
36 



Bt Cupid's Court 



The years have plodded along apace, 

And our paths have led us apart, 
But how could I ever forget your face 

When you never returned my heart ? 
Has twenty forgotten the joys of ten, 

And the way to the Beautiful Land ? 
Ah, still you 're my Lady of Kiss-Again, 

And I am your Prince de Grand ! 



37 



A FASHIONABLE GRADUATE. 

ROMAUNT OF A SIMPLE WIGHT. 

"T IS very sad to read of woe, 

And sad to write of trials and tears, 
But ah, my grief will overflow 

Unless to sympathizing ears 
I pour it forth — a dismal tale — 

Each word will give your heart a wrench ; 
This is the burden of my wail : 

She says her sweet things all in French ! 

For instance, if I question " When?" 

" ye suis bien prete,'" she murmurs low ; 
What can a fellow answer then ? 

How can I say I do not know ? 
In language plain and old I speak 

The eager love that naught can quench, 
While in a manner most unique. 

She says her sweet things all in French ! 
38 



Bt CupiD's Court 



She loves me, that I know full well, 

I 'd swear it by the Book of Grace, 
The fact her tender glances tell 

Whene'er she rests them on my face ; 
And once, too, in a billet doux 

She wrote it, and the truth to clench 
She sweetly signed it " Tout a vous."— 

She says her sweet things all in French ! 

I do not mind when they are writ ; 

I take my French book from the shelf, 
And close and hard I study it 

Until I know some French myself ; 
But when in passion on my knees, 

Her hand in mine, they make me blench 
I think I 'd rather have her sneeze 

Than say her sweet things all in French ! 

Ah, pity me, who hearts possess 

Of tender sympathy for those 
Who weep and wail their sore distress, 

Without cessation of their woes. 
I vow I '11 violate the laws 

By suicide, in some low trench ; 
Thus end my wasted life, because 

She says her sxoeet things all in French ! 
39 



A COQUETTE'S RUSE. 

C HE promised me, " No word of mine 
Shall cause your faith in me to dim ' 
And then, above her glass of wine, 
I saw her look at him. 



40 



THE " LUCKY GOWN." 

T^HIS, dear, I call my " lucky gown," 
This symphony of pink and white ; 
With happy heart I 've got it down 

To wear when Willy calls to-night. 
'T is not so beautiful, I know, 

As others here, and not so new ; 
I wore it first — oh, long ago ! 

But then — the old friends are the true. 

Some gowns, you know, however fine, 

A girl will strangely learn to hate, — 
'T is so with several of mine, — 

They always seem unfortunate ; 
While others, it appears, are blessed — 

One 's sure to have good times in them ! 
Why, this one is worth all the rest ! 

I love it — every stitch and hem ! 

'T was made for Clara's wedding-day ; 
I was her dearest friend, you see, 
41 



JQeauj anD OBellcs 



And when she threw her bride's bouquet, 

It fell directly upon me ! 
I wore it next to Grace's ball ; 

That was a very swell affair ; 
I had such fun ! And — that 's not all — 

You know I first met Willy there ! 

I think I '11 wear it just once more 

To-night — there, I must hurry down ; 
Who '11 say what Fortune has in store 

When one wears such a fateful gown ? 
Now, dorCt you think it looks quite well ? 

Oh, my ! I 'm trembling so ! — who know5 
But Willy, yielding to its spell, 

May feel encouraged Xo— propose / 



42 



BEFORE THE BALL. 

r\EAD in an alien land, and alone ! 

Shot by a bravo, swarth and bold ; — 
Dead ! Is it true ?— and I loved him so ! 
Though bought by another's gold. 

I am ready, Lisette, am I not— almost ? 

And now — my rings and my furs are here ? 
Ah, yes— there— thanks ! I 'm perfect, you 
say ? — 

I '11 be down in a moment, dear ! 

Dead ! he is dead — and I sent him away. 
And I loved him as only a woman loves ! 

Dead, and alone ! — I 'm coming, dear ! — 
Lisette, will you button my gloves ? 



43 



RETRIBUTION. 

CHE tempted me, because her mouth was 
sweet. 
Because I loved the languor of her eyes ; 
She was so fair, so fair, from face to feet, 
How could it be, I ask you, otherwise ? 
She tempted me, and through my quick- 
ened blood 
Ran riot all the ardor of my soul. 
And o'er my face up-rushed the fiery flood 
That told the secret I could not control. 
She smiled to see how surely love betrays ; 
She was so wise in all the world's sad ways. 

Could you have seen her tender, glorious 
smile, 
And read the pleading language of her 
look, 



No more than I would you have guessed 




the guile 




That marred the pages of her heart's 




closed book. 




44 


* 




i 



Bt CupiD*0 Court 



I did not know — I was so blinded then— 
My faith had never known the blight of 
loss ; 
I did not know that smiles naay murder 
men, 
And that the gold of beauty may be 
dross, 
I was the prey with which the tigress plays ; 
She was so wise in all the world's sad ways. 

What meed of triumph and what joy were 
hers 
She best may tell who saw my pain and 
shame ; 
All honor that a love betrayed confers 

Redounded to the greatness of her name. 
But in that piteous aftertime when Fate 
Decreed her faith should be as mine de- 
nied, 
And chance disclosed her doomed and 
desolate, 
I saw how poor a thing had been her 
pride. 
Thus God provides His vengeance and re- 
pays ; 
She was so wise in all the world's sad ways. 
45 



A LOVE SONG. 

/"^ O to, sad fears of love 's harsh reign ; 

If love a bondage be, 
'T is sweeter far to wear the chain 

Than rule a kingdom free ! 
Go to, all cold, unreasoning pride ; 

False dignity, away ! 
The joy is mine for which I sighed, 

And I 'm a slave to-day ! 

'T is well the hollow creeds of youth 

Have passed away so soon, 
'T is well to learn the happy truth 

While life is in its June ; 
And when I look into her eyes, 

So fair a world I view, 
I know that love has made me wise 

To be forever true ! 



46 



THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. 

■CHE'S only an "old-fashioned girl," she 
says, 

( Is it not enough to disgrace ? ) 
An " old-fashioned girl" with womanly ways, 

And a winsome and womanly face ; 
A girl who is innocent, modest, and sweet. 

Who is sensible, earnest, and true — 
The kind that will surely be obsolete 

In another short year or two. 

She is n't ambitious for questionable fame, 

She does n't ape man in her dress. 
She does n't read books that have a bad name, 

Nor herald her " views" in the press ; 
She does n't use slang, nor smoke cigarettes, 

Nor loudly expound "Woman's Rights," 
She shuns all the fads of the "fashionable 
sets," 

And " home " is her chief of delights. 
47 



JSeauj anO :SBc\\cb 



She 's only an " old-fashioned girl," you see, 

And not in the least " up-to-date," 
But she is the kind of a girl for me, 

And the kind that I want for a mate. 
I know it is very " old-fashioned" to say 

Your wife is a " saint from above," — 
But I own I am fond of her " old-fashioned " 
way, 

And proud of her "old-fashioned" love! 



i 

t 

i 



48 



MY LADY OF THE MARIGOLD. 

lUlY Lady of the Marigold is fair to look 
upon, 
The fairest queen in all the sunny West ; 
Her eyes are like blue violets, all dewy in 
the dawn, 
Her tresses like the marigold that 's pinned 
upon her breast. 
She wanders in the garden ; the birds attend 
her there ; 
The roses lend their color to her cheeks ; 
The sunlight lingers lovingly upon her flow- 
ing hair, 
And all the flowers lean to hear the music 
when she speaks. 

My Lady of the Marigold wears neither silks 
nor lace ; 
Upon her wrists there gleam no costly 
bands ; 
But knight or king ne'er knelt before a queen 
of gentler grace, 
49 



:JiSeau£ aiiD Mciice 



To sue for priceless favors from her white 
and jeweled hands. 
My Lady's radiant jewels are two bewitching 
eyes ; 

Her gold she plucked beneath her window- 
shrine, 
And oh ! the wealth of tenderness that in her 
action lies, 

When in my hand she places hers, and 
lifts her lips to mine ! 

My Lady of the Marigold, I love you well 
and true ; 
I ne'er again, O love, will leave your side ; 
My world of cold hypocrisy shall not enfetter 
you, 
Eut in some far and lovely realm alone we 
two shall bide. 
We '11 dream beside blue waters, that dance 
upon the shore ; 
Our ships will be white clouds that sail the 
sky ; 
The marigolds will bloom for you, the birds 
sing evermore, 
And all the world — the happy world — will 
be just you and I ! 
50 



TO JULIA. 

(in imitation of herrick.) 

JULIA ! Since your lips are red 

From the rose that on them bled 
Since your breath is sweet as wine 
Sipped from cups of eglantine ; 
Since your mouth, a Cupid's bow, 
Seems with blissful love aglow — 
Tempting, as a mouth should be — 
Guess I '11 take a kiss or three ! 



51 



ON JULIA'S RED FAN. 

U OW very strange ! This fan was white, 

When on it I began to write, 
But lo ! it blushed a rosy red 
On hearing what I — might have said ! 



52 



BALLADE OF SPRING DEPARTURE. 

CAREWELLto Town— the Season's done ; 

Farewell to banquet, ball, and play, 
Farewell to folly and to fun, 

And all that made the Season gay ! 

The time has come to hie away 
Beyond the pale of Fashion's throng. 

Our steamer leaves at break o' day — 
We 're going to do the Contin^w^/ 

'T is not good form for anyone 
Who aims to be of vogue au fait. 

And with the swagger set to run, 
At home or club to longer stay, 
So close the blinds without delay. 

And let us pack and haste along ; 
With vast importance and display 

We 're going to do the Contmong I 

Our tour at Havre will be begun, 
We'll be at Buda-Pesth in May, 
53 



JBcnui an& 36elle6 



At Berne we '11 view the rising sun, 
In Rome the old Flaminian Way ; 
Beside the Rhine we mean to stray 

A fortnight — which we may prolong ; 
Let all the Papers know, we pray, 

We 're going to do the Contin^w^/ 

l'envoi. 

Servants, now don't the truth betray. 
For that would be exceeding wrong); 

Though bound for Jersey, still we say 
We 're going to do the Contin<7«^ / 



54 



BALLADE OF FORGOTTEN LOVES. 

COME poets sing of sweethearts dead, 

Some sing of true loves far away, 
Some sing of those that others wed. 

And some of idols turned to clay ; 

I sing a pensive roundelay 
To sweethearts of a doubtful lot, 

The passions vanished in a day — 
The little loves that I 've forgot. 

For, as the happy years have sped. 

And golden dreams have changed to gray. 

How oft the flame of love was fed 

By glance, or smile, from Maud or May, 
When wayward Cupid was at play ; 

Mere fancies, formed of who knows what? 
But still my debt I ne'er can pay 

The little loves that I 've forgot. 

O joyous hours forever fled ! 

O sadden hopes that would not stay ! 

55 



JBeauj and JSelles 



Held only by the slender thread 
Of memory that 's all astray. 
Their very names I cannot say, 

Time's will is done ; I know them not 
But blessings on them all, I pray — 

The little loves that I 've forgot. 



Sweetheart, why foolish fears betray ? 

Ours is the one true lovers' knot ; 
Note well the burden of my lay — 

The little loves that I 've forgot. 



56 



A FAN FANCY. 
(Rondeau,) 

f J PON her fan where Cupids play 

At blind-man 's buff in droll array, 
A bit of rhyme he dares to write 
Whose theme is Love, and Love's delight 

Oh, bold, bad man ; what will she say? 

And while she reads he looks away, 
To awkward doubts and fears a prey ; 
"Oh fool ! " he thinks, " to love indite 
Upon her fan ! " 

He starts to go ; she bids him stay, 
Then blushes, sighs, and — names the day ! 

Ah, clever maid ! ah, happy wight ! 

Behold a couple's lives made bright 
By just a couplet light and gay 
Upon her fan ! 



57 



AT THE BAL MASQUE. 

DEHIND her mask two dancing eyes 
Glance up at me in shy surprise 
That I, who love her, should presume 
To clasp her in the brilliant room, 
Where sounds of mirth and music rise, 
And claim her as my own fair prize ; 
True love is fooled by no disguise ! 
I caught her smile, her lips' perfume 
Behind her mask ! 

As well, true love hath enterprise, 
Else, Prince ( who on all lovers spies ), 
How come we in this bower of bloom. 
Where, all unnoticed in the gloom, 
I steal a kiss from lips love-wise, 

Behind her mask ? 



5B 



DALLIANCE. 

(Triolet. J 

1 THOUGHT to write an epic grand, 
Instead I turned a triolet ; 
With the old masters close at hand, 
I thought to write an epic grand ; 
A flaming rose was in demand, 

But pleased, I plucked a violet. 
I thought to write an epic grand, 
Instead I turned a triolet. 



59 



SOUVENIR DE JEUNESSE. 

f CAUGHT a rosebud from her hair, 
She bent her head in sweet assent ; 
Trembling — she was so wondrous fair — 
I caught a rosebud from her hair ; 
How kind she was on that dim stair ! 

While asking for the love it meant 
I caught a rosebud from her hair. 

She bent her head in sweet assent. 



60 



A CYNIC'S CONCLUSION. 

C HE loves not me, forsooth, 
It is only Love she loves ; 
Ah, yes, it is all the truth — 
She loves not me, forsooth. 
Only my strength and youth, 

My presents of gowns and gloves 
She loves not me, forsooth, 

It is only Love she loves. 



6i 



WITH HER RED LIPS SO LIKE 
THE ROSE. 

"1X7 IT H her red lips so like the rose, 

(I kiss the rose's petal tips) 
And she so tempting near, who knows, 
With her red lips so like the rose, 
But by mistake (she must suppose 

It so), I kiss instead her lips ! 
With her red lips so like the rose, 

Why kiss the rose's petal tips ? 



62 



SONGS IN SEASON. 



63 



A SPRING SONG. 

/^H, Peg is a winsome lassie, 

And Peg is gentle and shy, 
And Peg has the sun in her ringlets 

And the blue of the sea in her eye. 
I found her down in the meadow, 

On a morn when the spring was young, 
And I kissed her lips a score of times, 

And this is the song we sung : 

Ohone ! but U 'j time to be merry ; 

hey ! but it 's now to be glad ; 
For I'm in love with my lassie, 

And she 's in love with her lad ! 

And the day it was fair and balmy, 

As the days that the poets sing, 
And we found the path through the woodland 

By the old forgotten spring. 
Where once before in the summer 

That passed away too soon, 
65 



JBeauj an& JSelles 



We gathered the yellow jonquils, 
And sang this happy tune : 

Ohone ! but it 's time to be merry ; 

hey ! but it 's now to be glad ; 
For I 'm in love with my lassie. 

And she 's in love with her lad! 

And Peg with her shy, sweet dimples, 

Playing hide-and-seek with her smiles, 
Gave me her hand for safe-keeping 

As we sat on the meadow stiles ; 
And I filled her arms with daisies, 

And I filled her lap with yew, 
And all the long way homeward 

We sang of hearts that are true. 

Ohone I but it 's time to be merry ; 

hey ! but it 's now to be glad ; 
For I 'w in love with my lassie. 

And she 's in love with her lad ! 



66 



PRIMAVERA. 

I IGHT laughter ringing sweet, 
The sound of dancing feet, 
A burst of song ; 

A girl as dear to me 

As sunlight to the sea. 

From guile and grief as free 
As rose of wrong, 

What though the throstle sing, 
For very joy of spring, 

With silvery note, 
The music that I hear 
Is sweeter and more dear 
Than e'er charmed mortal ear 
From thrush's throat ! 

O, hasten, blooms of May ! 
O, hasten, nuptial day 

And honeymoon ! 
When to my yearning breast 
My loved one shall be pressed. 
And love be crowned and blest 

In life's long June ! 

New York, April 2, 1895. 
67 



UNDER THE RED LILY. 

A SHEAF of Easter lilies lies 

Beneath my dear donzella's head, 
And blue as fair Italia's skies, 
Blue iris lilies form her bed. 
While, with its crimson lily, flies 
The flag of Florence overhead. 

The Easter morn is more than fair. 
And all the land in glory gleams ; 

Glad anthems fill and thrill the air 

From birds and bells and singing streams, 

And from the white cathedrals where 
The "City of the Lilies" dreams. 

This day I know what joy may be, 
As in my loved one's bower I bide. 

And lo ! the fairest flower to me 
Of all the flowers of Eastertide, 

Is this fair maid of Tuscany, 
This tiger-lily at my side. 



68 



THE HAPPY RIVER. 

LIOW dreamily the swift hours go ! 

I lie beside the Happy River, 
And watch the vagrant water's flow, 

The pale, sweet lilies nod and quiver — 
This day when all the June is fair 

With bonnet blue and vesture vernal, 
With roses twining in her hair, 

And in her eyes a peace supernal. 

Oh, you who plod the city's streets, 

And give your lives to toil and traffic, 
Can never, with the soul of Keats, 

Know pleasure so divine, seraphic, 
As I, who dream the hours away. 

Where linnets sing and lilies quiver, 
In blushing June's embrace, to-day, 

Upon the banks of Happy River. 

The murmuring water soothes and calms 
The soul that erst was tossed by passion 
69 



JScauj anD ^Belles 



Above me tender southern palms 

Have spread their arms in loving fashion ; 
My couch is all of myrtle made, 

The myosotis blows me kisses, 
The linnet, from a frond-fa9ade, 

Has set in tune my own heart's blisses. 

The June is young ; her breast is warm, 

Her breath with fragrant blooms is laden, 
The robe about her vestal form 

Is sensuous with the sweets of Aidenn ; 
And ah, June's lips are red with love. 

And oh, June's heart is faithless never, 
I think God made the stars above 

To crown my June a queen forever ! 

Unknowing all of life's despair. 

Unconscious of the world's distresses, 
I here repose, without a care, 

Enraptured by my June's caresses ; 
I am content with what is best, 

I praise and bless the All-wise Giver, 
My world is where my head doth rest 

Upon the banks of Happy River ! 



70 



LOVE-NOTES. 



\X7HEN I hear her laugh, I think 

Of the rippling of a brook, 
Starred with blooms along its brink. 

When into her eyes I look. 
To my charmed sense arise 
Dreams of tender, sunlit skies. 

When she speaks, I hear the note 

That outpours at sudden dawn 

From the startled thrush's throat. 

When her lips mine rest upon, 
All my senses seem to reel, 
And I know not what I feel. 

II. 

" If thou wilt tell me, dear," she said, 
" How many stars there be. 
71 



JBeauj anO JBcUes 



I '11 tell thee all the golden thoughts 
I have each night of thee." 

" Oh, countless, then, thy thoughts," I said 

" Of thee I have but one : 
Merge all thy stars in one great star 

And that is mine, the sun." 

III. 

" O RAVEN, why are you silent? 

And why do you coo, O Dove? " 
" Lo, one is sad, and one is glad ; 

For we are the moods of love ! " 

IV. 

In the deep, still garden close 

She leaned to my kiss, 
And hers the sweet shame of the rose 

That crimsons in bliss. 

When the Great Prince comes in his gold 

From gardens above. 
And the dewy, flushed petals unfold 

In fulness of love. 

72 



Songa in Season 



" Dear, thou art the white rose," I said, 

" And Love is the sun ; 
Is not the rose happiest red? 

Love's will be done." 

V. 

Oh, June is a sweet, red rose, 

With love on its petal tips, 
And June has grace and a rare, fair face, 

And a kiss on her fragrant lips. 

The buds have burst with their joy, 
The dumb stars dance their delight. 

For I love my June, and our honeymoon 
Shall last fore'er and a night ! 



73 



UNDER A SUNSHADE. 

C YES that are languid and dreamy, 

Lips that are temptingly red, 
Cheeks that are dimpled and creamy, 

And tresses silken of thread — 
(Mine is the chief of disgraces, 

Loving the vision I viev*^ ! ) 
Ah, 't is the fairest of faces 

Under this shade of ^cru ! 

Blossoms that breathe of a bridal, 

Born of the redolent night, 
Wafted of winds to my idol, 

Just for her dainty delight. 
(What if I yield to temptation? 

Who could resist it ? Could you ? ) 
Ah, what an artist's creation 

Under this shade of ecru ! 

Truly a model to measure, 
Fashioned by angels above, 
74 



Songs In Season 



Truly a poem of pleasure, 
Aye, and a lyric of love ! 

(Never a time like the present — 
No one v^^ill see if I do — ) 

Kissing 's exceedingly pleasant 
Under a shade of ^cru ! 



75 



COACHING. 

'T'HE musical trumpet's blast, — 

The sound of laughter gay, — 
Then word to start is passed, 
And the tally-ho rolls away. 

Out of the city's street, 

Far from the noisy throng, 
Into the country sweet. 

It rumbles gayly along. 

Over the cool green hills, 

And down through the wooded dales, 
Fragrant with daffodils, 

And vocal with calling quails. 

Happy each youthful face, 

Merry the mirthful wits, 
And lo ! in the footman's place, 

Trumpeter Cupid sits ! 



76 



ABOARD THE "BUMBLE BEE.' 

M OW, sailor, spread your fleecy sails, 

And steer for the open sea ; 
There 's never a boat this day afloat, 

As fair as the Bumble Bee ! 
And Marjorie, fair Marjorie, 

Stands laughing at my side, 
Her blue eyes bright for pure delight 

As over the waves we glide ! 

To-day we bid good-by to care. 

And leave the world behind ; 
On such a yacht it matters not 

If nev^r a port we find ! 
For Marjorie, fair Marjorie, 

Has pledged her heart to me. 
And where we go, why care to know, 

This glorious day at sea ! 

Then, sailor, hoist the spinnaker, 
And every stitch of sail, 
77 



3Beaux anD JSeUes 



And with a song we '11 fly along, 
And kiss above the rail ; 

For Marjorie, fair Marjorie, 
This day was wed to me, 

And so no drone of a chaperon 
Is aboard the Bwnble Bee ! 



78 



PRESSING AUTUMN LEAVES. 



T^HE sumac glows a brilliant red 

By tossing plumes of golden-rod ; 
The painted frondage overhead 

Is fluttering downward to the sod ; 
Last night there was a frost ; to-day 

The world is full of loveliness 
As through the woodland aisles we stray, 

Gathering leaves to press. 



We loiter gaily up and down, 

At every step we find a prize ; 
" Here *s one," I say, " of deepest brown, 

To match the velvet of your eyes ; 
Here 's one of gold, to match your hair, 

And here is one of scarlet hue 

To match your lips " She cries : " Take 

care ! 

Base flatterer, you ! " 
79 



JBeauj anD JBclles 



I like the work of pressing leaves 

With one so fair as Rosalie ; 
What fine suggestions one receives ! 

The which are acted on by me. 
I cannot tell just what occurs, 

For that, dear me ! would not be best, 
But you can take my word — and hers — 

More than the leaves are pressed ! 



80 



THE ARCHERY MATCH. 

C HE fits the arrow to its place, 

She bends the bow with skill and grace, 

The feathered shaft lets fly : 
A look of triumph lights her face, — 

The score 's a tie ! 

Dan Cupid, who 's a bowman true. 
Then boldly tries what he can do 

To bind the tie fore'er ; 
Result : the world declares the two 

A well-matched pair ! 



8i 



BOHEMIA AND BOHEA. 

'T'HE witch who brewed with cunning art 

Some draught of love above a flame, 
And chanted runes to charm the heart 

Of false gallant or fickle dame, 
Had not the wondrous power, I vow. 

Of magic and of sorcery 
Possessed by her who charms me now — 

The little witch who brews me tea ! 

'Mid cushions made of eider-down, 

With all the busy world afar, 
I watch her, in her pretty gown. 

Bend smiling o'er the samovar ; 
No incantation it receives, 

Her words have naught of mystery, 
But what a blissful spell she weaves — 

The little witch who brews me tea ! 

Ye gods that drank of nectar bright. 
Come down and have a cup or two, 

82 



Songs in Season 



I think you '11 find the flavor right — 
'T will seem like good old times to you ! 

However happy up above, 
Try once Bohemia with me ; 

But I reserve the right to love 

The little witch who brews me tea ! 
Hallowe'en. 



83 



A LOVERS' QUARREL. 

(Sonnet.) 

Scene : The Library. Time : Christmas Eve 

Guy {entreatingly) : 
And are you angry still, my sweet Marie? 

Marie {coldly) : 
Miss Marston, if you please — do not forget. 

Guy {bitterly) : 
'T were better far if we had never met ! 

Marie {cuttingly) : 
Quite true ; — we need not meet again, need 
we ? 

Guy {striding up and down) : 
I wish that Lovelace girl was lost at sea ! 

Marie {sarcastically) : 
How cruel, when last evening she was 
'' Fetr' 

Guy {tu9-ning toward her) : 
I did not mean it, dear — I much regret — 
84 



Songe in Season 



Marie {moving away) : 
Shall you attend our church's Christmas tree ? 

Guy (suddenly) : 
Who hung that green upon the chandelier ? 

Marie {defiantly) : 
I did, but be assured I'll not go near ! 

Guy {approaching) : 
Why, you are now — I warn you that — 
Marie {holding her ground) : 

Good-by ! 
Guy {exultingly) : 

Oh, no, sweet ! you must pay 

Marie {faintly) : 

How dare you ? — Guy ! 
( Twenty minutes later) : 
You dear old stupid ! — thought I did not 

know 
That I was standing 'neath the mistletoe ! 



85 



THE SLEIGH RIDE. 

\A/HEN all the world is robed in white 

And merry night 
By moon and stars is rendered bright, 

And everywhere the sleighing bell 

Rings out to tell 
The tale that lovers love so well, 

With joy I capture pretty Flo, 

And off we go 
Across the glittering fields of snow. 

Our sleigh just large enough for two 

Who want to woo, 
And keep unfrozen while they do. 

I place my arm, in comic haste. 

About her waist. 
And find her lips just to my taste. 

She shows no traces of alarm. 

For what 's the harm ? 
Thus on we speed past cot and farm. 

86 



Songs tn Season 



How swiftly now the moments fly ! 

The miles go by, 
We notice not the darkening sky. 

Heigho ! what now ? 'Mid laugh and shout 

We 're tumbled out, 
The snow is cool, beyond a doubt ! 

We climb again into the sleigh, 

Then in dismay 
We quickly learn we 've lost our way ! 

Yes, lost our way ; alas, alack. 

We can't go back — 
Down comes a storm upon our track ! 

In yonder cottage shines a light- 
It 's hardly right. 
But there we '11 have to spend the night. 

And who should answer at the door 

But Parson Bore, 
Who 's oft seen runaways before. 

And — well, I don't know what is said, 

But all turn red, 
And Flo and I, we— just get wed ! 

87 



SKATING SONG. 

A S swift and light as a bird in flight 

She skims o'er the glistening lake, 
And her skates keep time in a merry chime 

To the music her red lips make ; 
Stray snowflakes fly from the frosty sky, 

Caressing her cheeks and hair ; 
While sweet and strong in a skating song 

Her voice rings on the air : 

Glow, i7ioon, glow. 

And twinkle, stars, on high; 
Blow, winds, blow, 

As over the ice we fly ! 
Blow high — blow low — 

No lass is cold with a lover bold, 
Heigho I Heigho ! 

With a swinging stride I gain her side, 
And gather her hand in mine ; 
88 



Songs in Season 



And I shout aloud, to the jocund crowd 

A challenge they can't decline. 
Hurrah for the race ! We set the pace, 

With never a slip or fall, 
And a click and a clash as our runners flash 

Far in advance of all ! 

Hurrah ! Well done ! The race is won ! 

No further the need for haste ; 
Then her roguish glance betrays the chance, 

And my arm steals round her waist. 
Oh, such the delight of a winter's night, 

When the course is clear and long ; 
And the skates keep time in a merry chime 

To the rollicking skating song : 

Glow, V10071, glow. 

And twinkle, stars, on high ; 
Blow, winds, blow. 

As over the ice we fly ! 
Blow high — blow lotv — 

No lass is cold with a lover bold, 
Heigho I Heigho ! 



89 



FOR VALENTINE. 

AA/HAT shall he send for valentine? 

A rose, a verse entitled "Mine" — 
A song of love, a bleeding heart, 
Pierced by a deadly Cupid's dart — 
A fan of rare old lace from France, 
Like La Valliere used in the dance — 
A dainty ivory miniature 
Of Louis Quinze or Pompadour — 
A gemmed aigrette that she may wear 
To crow^n the splendor of her hair — 
A buckle, filigreed and chased. 
To clasp the belt about her waist — 
A bonbonniere — a case for cards — 
A book inscribed " With best regards" — 
Which best would please the maid divine ? 
What shall he send for valentine ? 

If best the maiden he would please. 
He should, perhaps, send all of these ; 
But no ! He '11 send (his purse is flat) 
A kiss, and let it go at that ! 



90 



HEIRLOOMS. 

T^HIS ivory casket, jewel set, 

That grandma cherished to the last 
In satin sweet with mignonette, 

Contains the treasures of her past. 
She was a famous belle when young — 

For she herself has told me so — 
And when her wedding chimes were rung 

Full many a heart was wrung with woe. 

I lift the lid and scan them o'er — 

Dear souvenirs ! — with reverent gaze ; 
It is like opening the door 

Of grandma's heart in other days. 
If each could tell its own sweet tale ! 

But all are silent now as she, 
And darkness shrouds the narrow vale 

'Twixt memory and mystery. 

Here is the chain that round her throat 
Was fastened at the king's command ; 
qi 



JBeauj anO ^Belles 



Here is the letter grandpa wrote 
When he besought her for her hand ; 

Here is the locket, pierced, that chanced 
To save him from a British gun, 

And here a glove, worn when she danced 
The minuet with Washington. 

I know no more ; I only know 

She loved each one as some old friend, 
And that, because she willed it so, 

I, too, shall guard them to the end. 
She gave no gold to mine or me, 

But left, instead, a heavy debt 
Of love, that keeps her memory 

As fragrant as the mignonette. 
February 22. 



92 



IVORY MINIATURES. 

(SQNNETS.) 



93 



AN IVORY MINIATURE. 

I F Karl Huth wrought of old with greater 
grace, 
Or with a skill more marvelous and rare, 
'T was not because inspired by one more 
fair, 
Or one of more divinity of face. 
Some cunning master hand that thrilled to 
trace 
The beauty of Dubarry and V^alliere, 
When Watteau reigned, and France had 
not a care, 
By this may well have won immortal place. 

Within its dainty frame oijletir-de-lys, 
The crossed white lilies of the Bourbon 
lance, 
It seems to Speak, with dreaming eyes, to me 

Of all the vanished glories of romance, 
Of days when kings held court beneath a 
tree, 
And nights when Love was conqueror of 
France ! 



95 



WHITE. 

I IKE pure white rose-leaves are her cheeks 
in hue ; 
Of snowy velvet is her sumptuous gown, 
Lace garnitured and edged with eider- 
down ; 
Upon her throat pearls gleam like sun-kissed 

dew ; 
Her ermine cloak half hides a white suede 
shoe, 
While valley lilies and white violets crown 
The splendor of her beauty, whose re- 
nown 
Is great as that which Titian's models knew. 

As slowly she descends the marble stair, 
A radiant vision in the brilliant light, 
She looks like some white statue fraught 
with breath ; 
And I, who marvel she can be so fair, 

Know that her vestal soul is just as white, 
And that she will be faithful unto death. 



96 



POTPOURRI. 

A QUAINT old jar of flowered cloisonne, 
That cost a fortune in Satsuma's mart, 
And long and patient vassalage to art, 
Has graced her mantel, lo, this many a day. 
And since that rapturous night long passed 
away 
When first she played the debutante's shy 

part, 
The roses she has worn above her heart 
Have found repose within this lacquered 
clay. 

O fragrance of unnumbered happy nights ! 

What memories of conquest you recall, 
Of merry throngs, of music and of lights, 
Of smiles and whispered vows when love 
was all ! 
Ah, faded petals of her heart's delights. 
Dropped one by one since that first perfect 
ball! 



97 



THE BRIDE. 

A S snowy white and cold as edelweiss, 

That blooms in solitude on Alpine 
steeps, 
Or in the solemn Schwarzwald's silent 
deeps, 
She looks, in truth, like some fair flower of 

ice, 
As to the altar of her sacrifice 

The measure of the melody she keeps. 

Impassive, while her rebel spirit weeps 

Like some lost soul barred out of Paradise. 

Then as she hears the sacred service read, 
" Whom God hath joined ..." the 
mockery of it all 
Brings to her lips a smile of utter woe ; 
She dreams this is her funeral day instead, 
And that her bridal raiment is a pall ; 
The envious world applauds, and does 
not know. 



98 



SPRING IN TUSCANY. 

*THE hills are sown with stars of cyclamen, 
And dew-gemmed cups of wild anem- 
ones, 
And near and far the gold acacia bees 
Drone drowsy answer to the lark and wren, 
And to the happy songs of maids and men, 
While through the laurel and the myrtle 

trees 
Gleam dreamy vistas of blue, sun-kissed 
seas. 
And all the Land of Love is glad again. 

Like Virgil, chanting strophes to the skies, 
In pillowed ease on blooms of asphodel, 
Beneath the lattice of a bowered tourelle 

I lie content, and feast my happy eyes ; 

Ah, surely, surely, this is Paradise ! . . . 
Yet where is Dante, and where Raffaelle ? 



99 



THE ARTIST. 

O E wrought with patience long and weary 
years 
Upon his masterpiece, entitled " Fate," 
And dreamed sweet dreams, the while his 
crust he ate, 
And gave his work his soul, his strength, and 
tears. 

His task complete at last, he had no fears 
The world would not pronounce his genius 

great, 
But poor, unknown — pray, what could he 
create ? 
The mad world laughed, and gave not praise, 
but jeers. 

Impelled to ask wherein his work was wrong, 
He sought, despairing, one whose art was 
dead, 

100 



fvocg /Rtntatures 



But on whose brow were wreathed the 
bays of Fame ; 
The master gazed upon the picture long ; 
" It lacks one thing to make it great," he 
said, 
And signed the canvas with his own great 



IDENTIFIED. 

A SLEEPING sylphid one fair day I found 
In Daphne's fragrant bowers (the Poet 
saith), 
Most strangely like my own Elizabeth, 
And with her hair in wreaths of roses bound. 

So tranquil her repose, so sweet, profound, 
But for the soft susurrus of her breath, 
I should have deemed such perfect peace 
was death. 

And flung myself, despairing, to the ground. 

So strangely like my own sweet love was she, 
I bent and kissed her red lips o'er and o'er. 

As flowers are sipped of honey by the bee, 
And spoke the name of her I most adore ; 

She oped her eyes, and smiling up at me, 
Exclaimed in rapture : " Please do that 
some more ! " 



IN SEVILLE. 

'THE earth is bathed in fragrance of the 
moon, 
Seville is drunken with the sweets of sleep, 
But one, a pretty youth, doth vigil keep 

Beside love's lattice with guitar in tune. 

He sings a strain, melodious and sweet, 
To wake his love, who comes with greetings 

warm, 
A pale mantilla round her queenly form, 

And broidered brodequins upon her feet. 

Her lips meet his in breathless, swift caress ; 
They see not jealous, gleaming eyes that 

peer 
From out the shadows of the cypress near. 
Nor hear the oath two savage lips express ; 
But when at morn she seeks the scented 

shade, 
She finds him prostrate, in his breast a 
blade ! 



103 



THE BALLET DANCER. 

(BY A JOHNNY.) 

I ITHE-LIMBED and lissome and all 
lovely she, 
Swift-footed as a gleam of glancing light, 
Bare-bosomed, and with glittering gems 
bedight, 

And garbed in snowy gauze to shapely knee, 

She sweeps and swings to luring melody, 
In graceful pirouettes of dazzling white. 
While I — cannot believe her human quite, 

And lean and look, and marvel as I see. 

flitting fairy of another world, 
Ethereal creature of a sylphic sphere ; 

Wilt leave me now with brain so dazed and 
whirled, 
And angelwise, soar off and disappear ? 

1 will not from my heaven thus be hurled ! 

I '11 meet you later and we '11 have a beer. 



104 



FANCY A-WING. 



105 



IN ITALIA. 

/^ OLD dawn 'twixt Alps and Appenines ! 
Gold dawn on vales and olive trees, 

And pent in golden celandines, 

Blown sweet by winds from southern seas ! 

Birds chant their matins to the skies, 
Perched high on old castello walls, 
And everywhere the sunlight falls 

Glad anthems and hosannas rise ! 

Across the Jiower-bespangled grass 

She walks amid the peasant throngs 
With lifted face to ?norning mass. 

Outpouring all her soul in song. 
White arum-lilies deck her breast. 

And for her vestaV s diadem. 
Upon her flowing tresses rest 

Some stainless stars of Bethlehem. 

Dim clouds of gold and amethyst 
Across the azure zenith creep, 
107 



JSeauj anD JSelles 



And vanish in the golden mist, 
Like white feluccas on the deep. 

High noon 'twixt purple peaks and sea, 
And silence, save for cooing doves. 
As lovely as the painted Loves 

Of Orpheus and Eurydice, 

She lingers in the scented shades 

To eat her figs and drink her milk. 
The fairest of the Tuscan maids, 

With dreaming eyes and hair of silk. 
With lips as red as tulip-bells 

Amidst the maize in time of May, 
And fragrant as the asphodels 

That bloom where Dante sleeps for 
aye. 

The vesper chimes have ceased to ring. 
The gold has changed to silver light, 

And Philomel begins to sing 
Gay ritornellos to the night ; 

In vine-hung ways are heard guitars, 
And youthful laughter, low and sweet, 
And love-words, never obsolete. 

Low-murmured to the witness stars. 
1 08 



3fanci2 B*1IDlin9 



Beneath the silvered lichen leaves 

She lifts her lips for his caress. 
With love that dies not, nor deceives^ 

And knows no law but happiness ; 
' T was love like this that Sappho sung 

On Lesbian hills long, long ago, 
A nd that, when Italy's art was young. 

Was known to Michael Angelo ! 



109 



AHOLABEH. 

\ A/ HERE cool Rohini's waters flow 

From haunts in Himalayan shades 
To Gunga's sacred tide below, 

Through gardens and resplendent glades, 
Wherein gay sunbirds whirr and swing 
From flower to flower on tireless wing, 
And golden orioles tilt and sing 

Of love through all the day, — 
The Sakya Rose is blossoming, 
Aholabeh ! 

Aholabeh ! a hope attained ! 

A rose-white Princess passing fair ; 
Her small, soft hands are henna-stained, 

A garland binds her scented hair ; 
Her soorma-lustred lashes seek 
To veil the love that burns her cheek, 
The love too great for lips to speak, 

And strong to live alway ; 



4fancs BsTKIling 



For kissing them thy gods grow weak, 
Aholabeh ! 

Tall Prince, whose kriss is keen to kill 
The tiger crouched in kusa-grass, 

Not Krishna thou, to have thy will 
At sylvan sport with her, and pass ; 

No gift of fruits or frankincense, 

Of champak, musk, or ornaments 

Of nakre or of gold, contents, 
But faith of thee for aye ; 

All pride in meek magnificence, 
Aholabeh ! 

Then build thy house of ganthi-flowers, 

Set stolen stars against their blue. 
Build heaven for her in earthly bowers. 

And sheathe thy sword if thou wouldst woo. 
Lo, in the garden of her sire 
She waits for thee in bride's attire, 
With downcast eyes and lips of fire. 

The Light of Himalay, 
The soul of all the world's desire, 
Aholabeh ! 



IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

T^HE sweet Loch Lomond finds a bed 

Within the Highlands' warm embrace ; 
Ben Lomond lifts his tawny head 

To kiss the harvest moon's fair face ; 
The flowering fields look up in love 
To all the amorous stars above. 

Oh, pluck some purple ling for me. 
And one white daisy bring for me. 
And sing forme, and sing for me, 
' ' Glenogie " and ' ' Prince Charlie ! " 

A perfect peace lies on the moor, 
The tender myrtle drapes the dune, 

And Philomel's sweet overture 

Has set the banks and braes in tune ; 

All Scotland is a bonnie bride, 

Whose dreamful sighs her joys confide. 

//ow gude to hear the skirl 6* pipes 
O'er bracken, burn, and barley, 
112 



When Donald plays and Janet sings 
" Glenogie " and *' Prince Charlie ! " 

By limpid lake half hid from light, 
Embowered by the heather blooms, 

My Highland lassie sits to-night 

And quaffs with me the night's perfumes, 

Her soul and mine in harmony 

With all we hear and all we see. 

" Threescore o nobles rode up the king's ha\ 
But bonnie Glenogie ^s the pride d" them a\ 
WV his milk-7vhite steed and his bonnie black 

e'e ; 
Glenogie, dear mither, Glenogie for me ! " 

With eyes more soft than eyes of dove, 
And breath more sweet than whin or thyme. 

She lifts her lips in languid love, 
And with my lips constructs a rhyme ; — 

How wondrous is a wistful word 

With earth and sky in rapt accord ! 

" 7 7/ to Lochiel, and Appin, and kneel to 
them, 
Down by Lord Murray and Roy of Kil- 
darlie : 

113 



JSeauj and JSelles 



Brave Mackintosh^ he shall Jly to the field wV 
them, — 
These are the lads I can trust wi' my 
Charlie ! " 

Ah, ne'er shall wane this harvest moon, 
This night of nights shall last for aye, 

And though I know a Spain's hot noon, 
Or in the Northland have my day, 

Ben Lomond still will tower above, 

My lassie kiss my lips in love. 

" Down thrd the Lowlands, down wV the 
Whigamore, 
Loyal true Highlanders, do7vn wV them 
rarely ! 
Ronald and Donald, drive on wV the broad 
. claymore 
Over the necks o' the foes d Prince Charlie ! 
Follow thee I follow thee I wha wadna follow 
thee, 
Kingd the Highland hearts, honnie Prince 
Charlie ! " 



114 



THE HOMESICK WANDERER. 

/^H, for a breath of bracken and heather, 
As up from the south the spring comes 
by ! 
Oh, for a walk in the glad warm weather, 

Under the blue of Scotland's sky ! 
Oh, for the sound of the laughing waters, 

Kissing the Highlands' crags of gray, 
And a sight of the fairest of Scotia's 
daughters — 
The lass that loved me in Colonsay ! 

*' Fhir a bhata I Fhir a bhata ! " 
/ can hear the boatmen singings 
In my ears the pipes are ringings 

" Fhir a bhata ! Fare thee well ! " 

Oh, to live over the olden story, 
Told of bonnie and braw McPhail, 

Who left the Isle for the fields of glory. 
Bearing the ruby that would not pale, 
115 



ascauj anD 3Qcl\C6 



Would not change till she that waited 
Proved unti-ue and drifted away, 

And joy was theirs when the two were mated, 
And he was the hero of Colonsay ! 

*' Fkir a bhata ! Fhir a bhata ! " 
' T was the last sweet sound, I mind me, 
Heard as Ulva paled behind me, — 

''Fhir a bhata ! Fare thee well ! " 

How would it be with the nameless rover, 

After his years on the barren main ? 
Never may he live the old tale over, — 

All his battles have been in vain ; 
Sadly my eyes in the moonlight glisten, 

Heavy my heart through the weary day. 
As ever and ever I seem to listen 

To voices behind me in Colonsay. 

" Fhir a bhata I Fhir a bhata ! " — 
And that sound of boatmen singing 
In my ears ivill e'er be ringing, — 

" Fhir a bhata ! Fare thee well ! " 



Ii6 



HAFIZ. 



"IX/HEN Hafiz sang in Samarcand, 

Through tender twilights, sweet with 
balm, 
Trooped star-eyed youths and maids to hear, 

And woo 'neath citron-tree and palm ; 
The nightingales were awed and mute ; 

Peace brooded over all the skies ; 
And sweeter than a magic lute 

His glad notes rang, or broke in sighs. 
The spell of love was on the land 
When Hafiz sang in Samarcand. 



II. 



Where Hafiz sleeps by bastioned walls 
The poppies set the fields in flame ; 

White asphodels above his breast 
Speak silently his sacred name ; 
117 



JSeauj anD JBelles 



In rose-wreathed bowers rough songs are 
heard, 

And ribald laughter over wine^; 
A ruffian slays, for one mad word, 

His rival at a wanton's shrine. 
Then in the dusk sad silence falls 
Where Hafiz sleeps by bastioned walls. 



Hi 



CHRYSANTHEMUM. 

/CHRYSANTHEMUMS! In dear old 
days 

When I was such a happy man, 
And wandered in the pleasant ways, 

I once sojourned in far Japan ; 
Where Ti Turn, of the satin eyes 

And luring grace, each morn would come 
To bring me (ah ! the sweet surprise !) 

A Japanese chrysanthemum ! 

My mus?nee knew my every wish ; 

How charmingly she served me tea, 
With her own picture on the dish, — 

Less sweet and dainty, though, than she ; 
And when I gave a kiss for this 

In token of reward, Ti Tum 
Gave me another soon — that is, 

A Japanese chrysanthemum ! 

We lounged for long in fields of flowers. 
We sat together in the shade ; 
119 



JBeauj anO JBeUes 



I ne'er have known such happy hours 
As those for me my musmee made. 

'T was an ideal life to lead ! — 
Of all delights the very sum ! 

And she was fair — herself, indeed, 
A Japanese chrysanthemum ! 

And when the dreamer ceased to dream, 

And all his idols turned to clay, 
No after joys could e'er redeem 

The hours his musmee laughed away. 
And did I leave her in Japan ? 

And did she not my own become ? 
I have her still — upon a fan ! — 

My Japanese chrysanthemum ! 

So you may wear the flower you choose, 

The pink or pansy, rue or rose. 
But pardon if I 've different views, 

In memory I this one chose ; 
Not for its fragance do I care, 

'T is not so beautiful as some, 
But I am quite content to wear 

A Japanese chrysanthemum ! 



1 20 



FELICIA OF MEXICO. 

pv ARK as the dawn on the still, wide water, 

When the fog and the mist hang low, 
Was the face of the Southland's beautiful 
daughter, 
Little Felicia of Mexico ; 
Aye, as the languorous dusks and olden 

Over the Guadalquiver's tide, 
But bright her eyes as the starlight golden 
The night in the Southland glorified. 

Sweet as the breath of the myosotis, 

Little Felicia's lips, and red ; 
Born was she of love and the lotus. 

Deep in June in a peri's bed. 
Stole from the Sun his warmth and languor, 

Stole from the flowers their beauty and 
sweet, 
Leavened her love with a spirit of anger, 

Learned of a cougar that played at her 
feet. 

121 



aseaus an& :Bellc6 



Little Felicia — the saints befriend her ! — 

Lost her heart in an evil hour, 
Loved vi^ith a love that vi^as true and tender, 

And joy was all of her bridal dower. 
Where was the Sun with protecting favor? 

Where was the cougar with deadly claws ? 
Ay de mi ! there was none to save her, — 

Well had she died in the cougar's jaws ! 

Down by the sea where the soft warm water 

Kisses the banks with murmurous sighs, 
Perished the Southland's beautiful daughter, 

Canopied only by peaceful skies ; 
But ah ! not alone, for lo ! beside her 

He who had wooed her and wrought her 
woe 
Lay dead from the sting of the Spanish 
spider, — 

Little Felicia of Mexico ! 



122 



VARIA 



123 



LAY OF THE MODERN MINSTREL. 

I DO not sing the martyred brave, 
Who dared and died for liberty, 
Nor those who breasted wind and wave 

To Avin a world across the sea ; 
Nor yet the knights of olden days, 

Whose name and fame were England's 
pride, 
Whose valor poets vied to praise, 
And every victory glorified. 

I do not sing the fair and fond, 

Whose charms both king and slave have 
sung. 
Whose sceptre, Love, since being dawned, 

Has swayed the hearts of old and young ; 
Nor is my lyre attuned to laud 

The worth of wealth, or wit, or wine. 
Which shallow sonneteers applaud 

At ten or twenty cents a line. 
125 



JSeauj anD JBellcs 



I do not sing of snow nor spring, 

Of flowery fields, nor moonlit glades, 
Of birds that whirl on tireless wing 

Through all the summer's lights and 
shades ; 
Of none of these ; they 're out of date ; 

I 've laid them all upon the shelf ; 
My theme is one of greater weight — 

I sing of nothing but Myself ! 



126 



TO EMMA EAMES. 

TTHOU conquerest all our hearts, and then 

Bidst us adieu for larger spheres ; 
We can but say : '■'■ Auf wiedersehen. 
Come back to us in future years ! " 

Auf wiedersehen ! But ere the sea 
Has borne thee from us for long days, 

A farewell gift I bring to thee — 
A simple wreath of honest praise. 

No frankincense, or myrrh, or gold, 
No songs like the immortal Keats' ; 

But flowers that you may kiss and hold — 
A wreath of tender marguerites. 

How often, in a careless hour, 

I 've looked at lilies, musingly. 
And thought : " Had lilies voice of power. 
How wondrous sweet that voice would 
be !" 

127 



JBeauj anD JiScllcs 



And when I heard thee, flower of youth, 
With all thy sweetness, grace, and art, 

Lo ! 't was the lily's voice, in truth, 
And still it echoes in my heart. 

I place my garland at thy feet — 
A grateful gift — with eyes still wet 

With tears for gentle Marguerite, 
For Elsa and for Juliette ! 



May, 



128 



NO. 10, ARCADY. 

"T* IS no design of mine, God wot. 

That I should be forever " broke," 
But there 's a time I envy not 

The best that comes to wealthy folk ; 
'T is when, at Mistress Polly's board — 

You know the house, lo, Arcady — 
I share with other guests her hoard 

Of bread, and cheese, and beer — and glee. 

We gather there on Sunday nights, 

A jolly crowd of eight or nine, 
And all have healthy appetites, 

Since most of us forget to dine. 
Then what a feast awaits our eyes ! 

There 's everything the heart can wish ; 
The world is just the shape and size 

Of Mistress Polly's chafing dish ! 

I never yet have understood 

The source of Mistress Polly's art, 

120 



JBeauj anD ^Belles 



And why her rarebits are so good 
They never fail to reach the heart. 

I 've supped at times — say once or twice — 
With big-bugs at Delmonico's, 

But things have never tasted nice — 
Just why, Magician Polly knows. 

Come round some time to No. lo, 

And be bohemian — what say ? 
You '11 find no place that 's better when 

You want to drive dull care away. 
Bring all your jokes and funny things 

To add to Mistress Polly's cheer ; 
We '11 have a banquet fit for kings 

Of toasted bread, and cheese, and beer ! 



130 



A PREDICAMENT. 

C HE is very dear to me, 

She is all the world, I ween, 
What think you her name may be ? — 
Josephine ! 

You would guess it by her looks. 
You would know it by her air, 
She is like the girls in books — 
Very fair ! 

You cannot resist surprise 

When you 're told this fairy queen. 
Has the sweetest hazel eyes 
Ever seen ! 

And you will rejoice to know 

That her cheeks were made to bite, 
That her skin is like the snow, 
Soft and white. 

And her lips are full and red. 
Like the berries of the mead ; 
131 



aseauj anD :fBcl{e6 



" None but you I '11 kiss," she said, 
" No, indeed ! " 

But this witch is full of guile, 
For she added, not in fun, 
" Even you must wait awhile, 
Till we 're one ! " 

Did the like you ever hear 

Since your great-grandmamma's day. 
When all girls were prudes, I fear ? — 
Did you, say ? 

Tell me, please, what I 'm to do, 
To my prayers she will not hark ; 

Shall I die and go straight to ? 

(Question mark ! ) 

Ah, there 's little hope for me, 
So why rail at unkind fate ? 
Maybe your advice would be, — 
Simply wait! 

But I cannot well comply, 

So she never can be mine, 
For she 's only six, and I — 
Sixty-nine ! 
132 



NOCTURNE. 

JVAOONLIGHT. and the madness thereof, 

and the love ; 
Moonlight and peace below, and moonlight 

and peace above ; 
The trees have sighed and are silent, the seas 

have sunk into sleep, 
And who that looks in the sky's fair face 

could think that the sky could weep ? 



133 



"I LOVE YOU." 

l_I OW many fleet, sweet years have passed 

Since that glad hour she deigned to say — 
Hath time been slow, hath time been fast ? 

Men live a lifetime in a day. 
I still can feel her hand in mine, 

Her warm caress in swift delight, — 
How many years ? Hath time no sign ? 

Or did it all occur last night ? 

Last night ! It seems a faint, sweet dream ! 

Last night ! And I have not grown gray 
I feel the thrill, the joy supreme 

I knew when first I heard her say — 
Cold — is it cold ? I did not know ; 

I thought the blast a tender tune, 
I saw the falling flakes of snow, 
But thought them blossoms of the June. 

Stand closer, for mine eyes grow dim. 
Perhaps, who knows ? the end is near ; 
134 



IDaria 

I wonder if she thinks of him 

Her three words gave a life-time's cheer. 
Last night ! I hear the music yet, 

I kiss her lips, I hear her say — 
God, tell me, does a soul forget 

When it goes forth to endless day ? 



135 



THE SCRIBE'S SWEETHEART. 

r\ FLATTERING tongue of fair Susanne! 

She calls my poems " pipes of Pan," 
She laughs at all my jokes, and sees 
In each some wondrous qualities ; 
To her my stories are the best 
With which the world was ever blest ; 
My books, she says, should all be found 
In every house above the ground ; 
In short, I 'm Byron, Tennyson, 
And Swift and Shakespeare all in one ' 

Ah, flattering tongue of fair Susanne ! 
If she were but the editor man ! 



136 



FAIRY TALES. 

" O^^^ °^ ^ ^^^^ ' " ^ "^3,gic phrase, 

That brought the light to eager eyes 
In careless childhood's golden days, 

When we were happy and unwise ! 
When gnomes and giants, sylphs and sprites, 

Abode in towers and forests grand, 
In that old realm of youth's delights, 

The wondrous realm of Fairy-land ! 

Then Princes dressed in cloth of gold. 

And Princesses were strangely fair ; 
To castles gloomy, weird and old, 

Oafs dragged their captives by the hair ; 
Queens rode on palfreys that had wings ; 

Knights went to war in ten-league shoes, 
And half the men on earth were Kings, — 

The other half formed Retinues ! 

Oh, Fancy-land of happy youth ! 
Thy joys, alas, are all too fleet ; 
137 



aBeauj anD JBelles 



By years so fraught with cruel truth 

Our disillusion is complete. 
But even yet, how strange and dear 

The wonders of that golden clime, 
And how our pulses thrill to hear 

Those luring words, " Once on a time ! 



138 



FUTILE INTUITION. 

" M IGHT has a myriad eyes," 
So runs the legend old, 
But Love has a myriad more, I hold- 
And still Love is not wise. 



139 



A MESSAGE. 

T T is too much to ask you to forgive, 

For bitter silence, like rank weeds, has 
grown 
Between us for so long, that though I live 

A hundred years I cannot half atone. 
Nor by the magic of regretful deeds 
Change into flowers of trust the bitter weeds. 

But could you for a little space forget 

All that has happened wrong, and live 
again 

Those happy hours when one pale violet 
Of all you brought me to my bed of pain. 

Was more to me than favor of a king, 

Because your love spake in the little thing ; 

And mount with me once more those creak- 
ing stairs 
To that high room where all the old books 
lay, 

140 



Daria 

Where, all forgetful of the world and its 

affairs, 
Our love found speech upon that perfect 

day, 
And where, like Romola and Tito, first 
Our lips assuaged each other's burning 

thirst ; — 

Could you forget, I say, but for a space, 

The after-wrongs that tore us far apart, 
I think the old sweet love would light your 
face, 
And there would be a glad song in your 
heart ; 
And if you knew how deeply I regret, 
You were not you, unless you did forget. 



141 



A WOMAN'S LOVE. 

"T* IS you that have brought me sorrow, 

And stained my life with tears, 
That have made to-day and to-morrow 

As dreary and long as years ; 
You are false to the faith we plighted, 

And swore by the stars above, 
And the wrong cannot be righted — 
But this is the pay of love ! 

Yet I am only a woman, 

To love while ever I live, 
And be it divine or human, 

Should find it joy to forgive ; 
One rapturous hope I cherish 

In all my grief and unrest. 
That ere I shall fail and perish, 

You will clasp me again to your breast ! 



142 



YOUR SIN WILL FIND YOU OUT. 

/^H, well for the joy, — 

It is sweet ! It is sweet 1 
The sin is in bud, 
Its heart in retreat. 

Alack for the joy ! 

For time will disclose 
The shame of the sin. 

As the heart of the rose. 



143 



THE POET'S FAREWELL. 

T^HEY say my muse has flown for aye, 
And that my poet's day is done, 
That I am but a " sinking sun," 
Who sang so sweetly yesterday. 

My masters know . . . Yea, it is o'er, 
With broken heart I close the book, 
Put by my pen with one last look. 

And turn away to dream no more. 

What now, beloved, remains unsaid ? 
One wish, perhaps, before the end — 
That you will think of me as friend^ 

And call me fair when I am dead. 



146 



A FLING AT POETS. 

I F I had a girl with golden hair, 
And teeth of exquisite pearl, 
And eyes that were gems, resplendent, rare, 
Do you know what I 'd do with that girl ? 

I 'd carry the beautiful, precious thing 
Right down to a jeweler's place, 

And I 'd sell her quick for what she would 
bring 
As an ornament to her race. 



147 



PLAINT OF A POET. 

T N good old times the Poet's lot 

Was one of honor, pride, and praise, 
And poesy was not a blot 

On one's fair name, as nowadays ; 
Alas ! this unregenerate age 

Has no respect for Homer's art. 
And deems all Poets need a cage, 

Or dwelling-place from men apart. 

An inoffensive chap am I, 

Who have my hair cut now and then, 
And dash off things about the " sky," 

And "snow," and "Spring has come 
again " ; 
And everywhere I chance to go 

By sneers and scoffs I am attacked, 
Folks nod at me and whisper low : 

" Oh, he 's a Poet ! " meaning " cracked." 
148 



t)arla 

One friend alone has proven true, 

And once I said : ' ' Pray condescend 
To tell me how it happens you 

Deign be a modern Poet's friend ?" 
He grasped my hand. " Because, to wit 

You 've been maligned in hut and hall ; 
I 've read all things you ever writ, 

You 're not a Poet, sir, at aJ.1 ! " 

THE END. 



149 




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